


Deal

by Gulo



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, but then I couldn't sleep, it was a dream I had, so I wrote it down anyway, this is silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 08:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gulo/pseuds/Gulo
Summary: What happens when a Vulcan gives oomox? Quark makes a new, unexpected friend.





	Deal

The moment she walked into the bar, Quark knew he was in love. 

"Hello. Raktajino, please." She ordered with some excitement, like this was something she had been looking forward to. Quark knew his coffees were good, but he wouldn't call them famous. Silver-eyed, with short silver hair that was less blunt, and more feathered in the bangs, she appeared less severe than most Vulcans. There was a strangely... playful glint in her eye. He never took Vulcans as playful. Stuffy, uptight bastards, the lot of them. But she was young, only an ensign by the single pip. Yet how odd, wearing a short Vulcan-cut tunic, plain with no embroidery and in Bajoran colors, and with a Bajoran security communicator?

He turned to the Vulcan with his most winning, toothy smile. "Well well. Welcome to my humble establishment," he said with anything but humility, spreading his arms wide with a flourish of his bar rag. "Hot or cold? Sugar? How strong?"

"Umm." The little Vulcan stood on her tiptoes to look over the bar at her options, then all around it in wide-eyed wonder. "Hot. Sweet. Single."

Quark continued to grin. "Coming right up." He stopped Hadron from approaching the espresso machine. "I got this one." 

He worked his magic on the machines, because coffee this good couldn't be merely replicated. A shot of liqueur and a dusting of spice, and he slid the hot mug between her hands on the bar. "Enjoy. And as a token of my appreciation, this one's on the house."

There was a murmur from the other bar patrons. Quark offering freebies was almost unheard of, except as barter or apology for mistakes. Purely professional. As a special favor they all saw right through it, but the Vulcan was oblivious. "You're too kind. Thank you." She contemplated the drink's aroma, then blew on it to take a sip, demonstrating clear enjoyment. And instead of running off to enjoy the drink in privacy as many would, she lingered by the bar. 

Quark watched her out of the corner of his eye as he poured another few drinks. When that was done, he snuck up next to her again. "First time here?"

"Yes." The Vulcan leaned casually against the bar, just people-watching. No doubt she had never seen some of the races of the travelers passing through before. "I was just hired as a clerk, and finished my first shift. It's very busy, here." 

"It's rush hour. But the bar is open to you. Enjoy yourself. Take a spin at the Dabo wheel. Rent a holosuite, if you like," he smirked again, overt. 

The Vulcan was young, but not unwise. She knew the difference between being upsold, and being given a test. She shook her head slightly between sips. "This is all so new. I think I'll just talk to people, for now." 

"If you change your mind, just say so," again Quark spoke in his un-humble, showman voice. "Name's Quark, as you know. And you are?" 

"Faama." She offered a slight bow. 

"Ensign Faama." The Ferengi was not without manners and nodded back. "You just let me know whatever you need." 

Assorted snickering and clearings of throats at the bar. Quark loomed over Morn and whispered harshly. "Don't you even think about opening that grease trap of yours you call a mouth."

He proceeded to fill orders, then became unfortunately distracted bickering with a Klingon over the price of a drink. A rush came through and suddenly he found himself an hour later, catching his breath as patrons finally settled into their evening kanar-, ale-, and bloodwine-induced lethargies. Before he knew it, Hadron was starting on the tasks for closing. Quark looked around to take stock of things, noticing that Faama was now at the Dabo wheel, not playing but watching the games with that incorrigible curiosity. A Cardassian across from her was swiftly losing latinum, mildly belligerent and more than mildly drunk, and would periodically shoot icy glares and muttered oaths in the Vulcan's direction. Faama took it all in stride; Quark could not hear the conversation, but every time the Cardassian seethed, she seemed to deflect it with the aloofness of a monk. That at least was typical. 

Finally it was time to close, for despite the long hours he kept, even Dabo girls and useless ferengi bussers had to sleep. One by one the patrons all left, thankfully without incident. And Faama remained. The Dabo table abandoned, once more she leaned against the bar and watched Morn drain the rest of his tankard, then lumber off to his bunk. 

"...Anything I can do for you, ensign?" Now Quark was polishing a glass with his rag mostly to give his fidgeting hands something to do. 

"Actually, I was wondering if I could help you. Would you like some company walking home?"

"Me?" Quark blinked. "But I -- " Opportunity. It was tingling in his lobes. " -- could use the company, sure." His tone wasn't sure, damn him. What was happening here? Wait. Was she actually asking him to walk her back to the habitat ring? Perhaps as a new assignment here, she didn't feel safe yet. Clearly it was his job to step up. "Yes. Just give me another few minutes."

Swept, cashed out and lockboxed, and lights out, Hadron left, followed finally by the last two. As the bar doors shut and locked behind them, Quark observed Faama glancing along the halls. It was late at 'night', but there was still a quieter flow of traffic on the station that never truly slept. "This way to the turbolift," he pointed, and they walked side by side. 

"Sooo," Quark put on his friendliest voice, trying not to stare too hard at the Vulcan's comely features, "How'd you managed to find yourself here, all the way from B Quadrant? That is, I assume."

"Yes, I'm from Vulcan." Faama trod the hallways with a little spring. "I graduated from the Academy a few years ago. I was assigned to a starship at first, but I've heard so much about this station, I wanted to see what it was like."

"What are you, an engineer?"

"That's correct. My hyperspanner is collecting dust, but sometimes I help out on debugging the software end of things." For shame, such loveliness wasted on a Starfleet career. But what loveliness... Too bad Vulcans were too modest to denude themselves.

Quark reeled his thoughts in. "I could use your eyes on my bar, if I'm honest. Plenty of travelers passing through would, ah... overlook you, being a cop. It's useful to have someone watching out who doesn't make anyone nervous." He hoped that covered for his own nervousness. 

Faama paused in her walking to look at him directly, for the first time seeming to scan his face very closely. Quark's heart skipped a beat, realizing he'd put himself on the spot. He expected some kind of patently Vulcan criticism. Instead he got earnestness. "If I can be of any help, I'd be happy to." Ahh, the innocence of youth. (Notwithstanding that he guessed her at about 40 years.)

The ferengi found he was struck speechless as they stepped into the lift. But before the door closed, Faama held it open. "Did you hear something?"

"Huh? Oh. Probably just a drunk."

To his dismay, she stepped out of the lift again to glance up and down the prom. Damnable Vulcans, damnable cops, always so damnably duty-bound. "It's fine. He knows his way home." But she wasn't listening. Faama crossed the prom to where the moan had come from, approaching the very same Cardassian who had been trying to bait her hours ago. The Cardassian was stinking drunk, miserable and even weeping, slumped over a lonely replimat table. 

"Are you alright?" she asked, but the Cardassian made no verbal reply. Quark watched helplessly as Faama used a nearby replicator to get a cup of water and insist the Cardassian drink it. The Cardassian stared blankly at it for about a minute in swaying silence, whilst the Vulcan murmured in hushed and soothing tones. Even Quark's ears couldn't quite catch the words, but slowly the Cardassian's disposition seemed to turn from misery to begrudging passiveness. He threw back the drink of water and set the glass down, still gripping it tight. "Do you need help back to your room?"

"NO!" he roared at first, then sank back again and, defeated, sighed weakly, "Yes..."

Oh, great. This fun little diversion had turned into yet another job, as usual. He might as well enjoy the company while he had it. And the view. Faama was strong enough to support the Cardassian with her shoulders under one arm, helping him stumble along with them to the lift. The ride up in silence was far too long. 

"What is your room number?"

"24B," the Cardassian slurred. Quark didn't feel the need to hide his disdain. The man's breath was like kanar vapor, and the creaking of his leathers creeped him out. When they got to the room the Cardassian keyed in, and Faama walked him to his table to sit, replicated another water and commanded the grumbling man to drink that down as well. "And now you'll leave me," he moaned, "and I'll be alone." 

"Yes, for now. You really ought to sleep. And so should we. But we'll see each other again. Talk to me anytime." Quark couldn't believe what he was seeing. The Vulcan put a gentle hand on the Cardassian's shoulder to reassure him. 

The Cardassian looked up at her with a hangdog expression. Finally he nodded. Satisfied, Faama gave the slightest smile, and they headed out.

"This is me," Quark said with a nervous friendliness when they approached his apartment. "Uhh. Thanks for the, um. Escort."

Faama offered a short bow. "And thank you for the company. Good night."

"W-wait." What. Just what did he plan to do, say? "Ah. I, ah."

"Yes?"

"I mean. Ah. You don't look sleepy. From the raktajino. Would you stop by for a few minutes?"

"Certainly."

It worked! Things were going so fast. Quark entered his apartment to watch Faama's wonderous gaze scan its contents. Quark's suite was somewhat larger than most of the other station's rooms, a design meant for a family. After the initial elation faded, he realized how targ-tired he was and collapsed on a couch. "Computer, rain on." A soft soundtrack of pattering rain and mild thunderstorms started coming in over the speakers. "What a day. I can't believe nothing went wrong."

Already, Faama was examining various art pieces and other knicknacks. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and she rocked on her toes to look at higher shelves. "You do have your work cut out for you. I'm sure being a bartender is more challenging than it looks."

"Why, yes. You're absolutely right about that." Smirking, Quark adjusted himself so he was sitting more upright. He couldn't remember the last time he had a guest visiting his quarters, let alone a beautiful female. He idly wondered to himself about Vulcans, and their touch sensitivity. What would it be like for one of them to give oomox...? "If you ask me, I think I have the most important job on the station. I'm the entertainer."

Faama turned on her heel to look back at him with more obvious amusement. "Consider me entertained."

Quark sort of simpered. He felt quite warm, and let his hand rest on his chin to gaze back at her. 

"Yes? What is it?"

He realized he'd been staring a little too long. He shooked his head, "Oh, nothing, it's just..." he may as well be honest, though it was a challenge to spit the words out, "you're very ... kind."

Faama tilted her head, but the amusement remained. 

Quark spoke to dozens of people each day, even hearing about their life stories sometimes. But there weren't a whole lot of people he spoke _with_. He didn't share himself much, no one asked, no one needed it, except maybe himself, he realized, belatedly. There were things he didn't even care to tell Rom, because Rom was too close to be told. 

"You want to ask me for something," the Vulcan said, incisively. It gave Quark a start. She was looking at him with the gaze of a Tarkalean hawk. Vulcans weren't psychic, were they? No, psychic powers didn't exist. Telepathy, that was different. 

"Maybe I do, but it's not like I _can_ ask," he shrugged with another nervous smile. 

"I am curious. Ask it."

Why hadn't she left yet? Curious was the word. Well, he was going to alienate her at some point. Might as well get this over with. Quark leaned forward in his seat, fixing her stare right back with his businessman's face. "Have you ever heard of oomox?"

"Oomox? No." 

"Well it's uh... a favorite ferengi passtime. We're very sensitive up here. Very sensitive," he brushed the top of his naked head, "and uh, it's the best feeling, to have it stroked."

"Stroked, I see." Faama was processing the information. With her hands still clasped behind her back, she waited for him to speak again.

Quark cleared his throat. "Yeah." It's now or never. Go all the way. "It's even better than sex."

There it was -- the silver Vulcan eyebrows shot up. Classic. Faama blinked and rocked on her heels again. "Interesting. But I cannot help noting, that was not actually a question."

Clearing his throat didn't help. His mouth was suddenly dry. He was glad he'd turned on the rain sound so there wasn't silence. "Well I uh..." he coughed, "ah.... if it was a question, then uh..." nervous laugh, "I guess, then, ah... w-would you... give me... oomox?" he cringed. 

Faama crossed the room to approach him. The little Vulcan was about a head above him where he currently sat. She unclasped her hands, those lovely delicate hands, and brought them up to brush one on each side of the bulbous hemispheres. "Like this?"

It was a blessing.

Quark didn't have to guide her, somehow she knew exactly what to do. The tiny hands stroked each lobe with dexterity, featherlight, sometimes pressing more firmly. Once or twice her fingertips even dipped between them at the crevice, making him shiver with frisson. He'd never felt a tingling in his head like this, never before. Must have been something to do with her Vulcanness. Whatever it was, it was skillfull enough to melt all his tension away, and put him in a trance. His poor neglected head was warmed by her fingers one by one, fingers that traced down his ear ridges and back up, brushed his nape. Before he knew it, he realized he had his face buried in her (alas, enrobed) bosom. He was pitifully clutching around her waist, and purring.

He should probably stop, pull away, but it felt so amazing. He was hypnotized. Even greater than the physical sensation was the one of comfort. Comfort, and comfortableness. Few could reach this point with him. Very few. 

Faama regarded him like a pet. Perhaps this was her strength. The power not to repulse, like so many of her people, but to attract. To tranquilize. Perhaps even... to entertain. But mostly, to tranquilize. That surely was a talent. 

But the placidity was not quite enough to erase the entertainment from his head. Before his thoughts could turn less than innocent, he released her and drew himself up again. Quark was sometimes a swindler, but he was not a brigand. He cleared his throat again. "Got a bit carried away there, heh. Overtired." Fake smile. 

Faama's hands returned behind her back. "Interesting. 'Better than sex,' indeed. It is more like post-coital rush."

Quark idly wondered how much of his thoughts he'd let her read, but refused to blush about it. "You got a gift, lady." 

"I've had an easy life, so far. I may as well pay it forward when I can."

With what? Quark wondered at first. An open heart? He sneered at himself inwardly for the sentiment. No one was that good-hearted, no Ferengi, Cardassian, Bajoran, Klingon, or Human, not even an accursed Vulcan. But there she stood before him, undeniably candid. Quark found himself uttering two words he hadn't said with such sincerity for a long time. "Thank you."

Faama bowed once more. "It's time I'm off. Well-met, Quark." 

Quark ambled to follow her to the door. "Hey -- you keep those eyes and ears out for me around the bar, and I'll keep the free drinks coming. Whaddya say?" he held his hand out, which Faama regarded at first with bafflement, before remembering the custom and taking it to shake.

"It's a deal."

He released her delicate grip, leaned against the door jamb to whisper in. "Suppose you could maybe uh.... throw in a little more oomox, too...?" 

For the first time Faama shot him a glare, however briefly. It was quickly replaced by more amusement. "Take time away from my paperwork for guard duty, _and_ oomox? I don't think so. But, we'll see. Maybe later on I can think of something else you can do for me, and we can renegotiate."

The frisson was back, making Quark tremble. She was secretly shrewd, too. Remarkable. "We'll talk. Sweet dreams." He wiggled his fingers to see off her smiling face. 

~<3~


End file.
